


The Green Room

by Mad_Lori



Series: Performance in a Leading Role [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 08:51:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Lori/pseuds/Mad_Lori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>THIS ONE-SHOT IS NOT "PERFORMANCE" CANON.  It's an AU one-shot that diverges from the story's canon, purely as a sort of sadistic little April Fool's joke.  I still kind of like it, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Green Room

John was shown to the green room to await his turn.  It might be an hour or more until he was called to the stage, so he figured he’d settle in, read some email, maybe a book…but that all went out the window when he entered the room and saw Sherlock sitting on a couch, legs crossed, blank-faced with surprise that only John would have been able to detect.   
  
Frankly, John was surprised it had taken this long.  Los Angeles was a big city, and so was London, but the acting community was small and he’d known that much as everyone was being sweet and considerate and trying to avoid it, it was inevitable that he’d bump into his ex-husband.  
  
John didn’t allow himself so much as a blink.  Covering his disquiet with forced normalcy, he ignored Sherlock and went to get himself a cup of coffee.  He took a seat as far from Sherlock (whose gaze had never left him since he’d entered) as he could and got out his phone, putting on the closest thing to indifference as he could manage.  
  
He started counting.  He’d gotten to twelve when Sherlock spoke.  “John.”  
  
He cleared his throat.  “Sherlock.”  
  
“I apologize for this.”  
  
“It isn’t your fault.”  
  
“I should have anticipated this circumstance.”  
  
“And if you had, would you have avoided it?”  
  
“Certainly.  You’ve made it more than clear you don’t wish to lay eyes on me.”  
  
John sighed.  “I’ll survive.”  It had been three years since he’d issued that edict, and he no longer felt quite as raw as he had at the time.  It wasn’t surprising that Sherlock thought he still had to hew to the conditions so stringently, but it gave John a slight twinge of guilt that he was.  “How have you been?” he said, quietly.  A peace offering.  
  
Sherlock looked a little taken aback.  “I’m well, thank you.  And you?”  
  
“Very well.”  This felt profoundly wrong, in a universe-tilting way.  It was hard to wrap his mind around having the blandest, most meaningless small talk in the world with this man, the only person in the world who’d ever really known him.  
  
Another few minutes passed in tense silence before Sherlock spoke again. “You were excellent in Fallingwater.  I think it’s your best work yet.”  
  
John looked up at that, meeting Sherlock’s eyes for the first time.  The first time in years, in fact.  “You saw it?”  
  
Sherlock blinked.  “Of course I saw it.  I see all your films.”  
  
John didn’t know what to say to that.  “Thank you,” he finally said.  If Sherlock was waiting for a reciprocal comment, he had none to offer.  He hadn’t seen any of Sherlock’s work in years.  All he knew of it was what he heard from others, and the opinions of reviewers…and of course the Academy, who’d given Sherlock another Oscar last year.  John hadn’t been present; he’d watched on television as Sherlock gave a stilted, formal acceptance speech that was exhaustively compared in the press to the one John had given years before when he’d won for To a Stranger…a film John would never watch again for the rest of his life.  
  
Silence fell again.  Sherlock’s presence, the closest they’d been to each other in three years since John had all but fled the lawyers’ conference room, felt like something physical, crawling over his skin and coating him like an oil slick.  This was why he’d avoided this with such dedication.  Just hearing the man’s name was enough to awaken the sense memory of his hands on John’s body, his arms around him…actually being in the same room with him was like phantom limb syndrome, except John had lost not an arm or a leg but a whole person.  
  
Sitting here with him was bad enough.  Sitting in silence was worse.  “So you’re still with…wait, what’s his name?” John heard himself say.  
  
Sherlock looked a little surprised that John had brought it up; no more surprised than John was at himself.  “Colin.  And yes, I’m still with him.”  
  
“That’s going on a year now, isn’t it?”  
  
Sherlock arched one eyebrow.  “You’ve been following my personal life?” It wasn’t a challenge; he sounded like he’d never conceived of such a thing.  
  
John harrumphed, feeling a bit caught out.  “It’s hard to avoid.”  
  
“It’s a year and a half, actually.”  
  
“Sounds serious.”  
  
Sherlock sighed.  “He’d like it to be.”  
  
John didn’t take the bait.  
  
Five long minutes.  John was determined not to be the next to speak, and he wasn’t.  “You’ve been…playing the field.”  
  
John bristled a bit at the accusation.  “I wouldn’t put it that way.”  
  
“You’ve dated four women and two men in the last three years.”  
  
“It’s none of your business.”  
  
“I never meant to imply that it was.”  
  
“Just because I haven’t found a new partner for life, like you have.”  
  
“Who said I’d done any such thing?”  
  
“So you’re just stringing that bloke along?  You said he wanted to get serious.”  
  
“Colin would like nothing more than to claim me for his own and chain me to his side forever.”  
  
“You do at least like him, don’t you?  You’re not that cruel.”  
  
“I like him well enough.”  
  
John snorted.  “Poor chap.”  
  
“For God’s sake, John!” Sherlock burst out, emotion animating his face for the first time in the whole conversation.  “I’m disappointed in you.”  
  
John’s temper flared and he flung his phone aside, shifting to face Sherlock across the room.  “Well, that’s nothing new, is it?  I spent our entire marriage disappointing you!  Tell me, what have I done this time that hasn’t lived up to your lofty standards?”  
  
“How could you ever think I’d be serious about someone else?”  
  
“No, of course not.  How stupid of me!  I ought to know better than anyone that you’re not capable of love.”  John stood up, too agitated to stay seated, and paced back and forth a few times.  This, this was why he hadn’t wanted to so much as be in the same room as this man, because no matter how much he kidded himself that he was over it, it all came roaring back like a pyroclastic flow, demolishing the fragile defenses he’d built up to keep himself sane.  
  
Sherlock got to his feet at well, his face reddening.  “How typical, John.  Jumping to the conclusion that paints me in the worst possible light.”  
  
“Can you blame me?”  
  
“I can blame you for being irretrievably obtuse!”  
  
“Then enlighten me!”  
  
“It is utterly impossible for me to love Colin the way he wishes me to.”  
  
“Why, because he’s a flawed human being like everyone else?” John spat.  
  
“No!” Sherlock exclaimed, rounding on him.  “Because I’m still in love withyou!”  
  
The air left John’s chest as if he’d been dropped from significant height.  He choked on an inhalation and clawed a breath into his lungs.  “Wh…you…what?  How…I don’t…”  
  
Sherlock stumbled back a step, one hand going to his forehead.  He looked shocked at his own outburst.  “Never mind.”  
  
“No, I won’t fucking never mind,” John growled.  He strode over and grabbed Sherlock’s arm, turning him back to face him.  “You can’t.  You can’t still love me.”  
  
“Don’t you dare tell me what I can and can’t feel, John.  You always presumed too much.”  
  
“But…how did we…you wanted the divorce!”  
  
“I asked for it because I could tell that you wanted it but couldn’t bring yourself to take that final step.  I took the burden off you because it was too heavy for you to bear.”  
  
John felt sick to his stomach.  “You thought I wanted a divorce?”  
  
“Didn’t you?”  
  
“Only because you were driving me to it!  I tried to talk to you, I tried to get through to you, but you kept shutting me out!  When you asked me for a divorce I…it just confirmed that you’d grown tired of me, of our life together.  I was always afraid you would and you did.”  
  
“You certainly jumped all over it the moment I suggested it!” Sherlock said.  John could see the traces of hurt and rejection behind his eyes, and couldn’t believe he had missed them before.  
  
“I couldn’t bear to drag it out!  If we were divorcing I just wanted it over with as quickly as possible.”  John stared up at him.  “Sherlock.  You’ve got to…you’re telling me….”  He took a deep breath.  “Please, tell me that we didn’t end our marriage over some horrendous misunderstanding.”  
  
Sherlock shook his head.  “I understood.  Maybe more than you did.  It was inevitable, John.  Better sooner rather than later.”  
  
“Why?  Why was it inevitable?”  
  
“Because it was a fairy tale,” he said, his voice low and ragged.  “And you would come to despise me, as you do now.”  
  
John grasped his forearms.  “I don’t despise you.”  
  
Sherlock’s mask of detachment was crumbling before John’s eyes.  “John,” he whispered, and it demolished the last of John’s resistance.  
  
“Oh God, Sherlock,” he choked, and pulled him into his arms.  The kiss was frantic, disjointed; it was damn near an out-of-body experience.  John was instantly back in time, back to late nights in bed with Sherlock, afternoons spent together in silence in their home, walks in the country in Sussex, the years when this man had been his husband and he’d never suspected that happiness like that was real.  And then the distance, the withdrawal, the alienation, his many attempts to find out what was wrong, being rebuffed, growing resentful…he’d allowed this, he hadn’t tried hard enough.  He knew it wasn’t solely his fault, but at this moment, he felt like he’d failed the most important thing he’d ever been given.  
  
Sherlock clutched at him, bending him back and kissing him with what felt like a lifetime’s pent-up regret and loneliness.  Their bodies remembered the feel of each other, their mouths moving together just as they used to, as if it hadn’t been three years since they’d as much as breathed each other’s air.  “John,” Sherlock gasped, moving down to kiss his neck.  “Nothing matters without you.  I’m lost, I can’t…I miss you so much.”  He drew back and met John’s eyes.  “Tell me you still love me.”  
  
“I never stopped,” John said, tears spilling down his cheeks.  “I always loved you, all the time, even when you were telling me you didn’t want me anymore.  I love you so damn much that I had to hate you so I wouldn’t spontaneously combust from how much it hurt not to be with you.”  
  
“I’m sorry, I can’t begin to say how much.  I was confused, I was scared…I didn’t know, I thought I was doing what you needed.”  
  
“Why didn’t we talk about it?”  
  
“You tried.  You tried so many times and I wouldn’t let you.”  Sherlock’s chin dropped and he shook his head.  “You shouldn’t forgive me.  I did this to us.”  
  
“I should have known.  God knows I’d had to deal with your fatalism before.  It isn’t all your fault.”  
  
Sherlock’s breath was shaky, as if he were on the edge of sobs.  He hung onto John’s hands with trembling fingers and it was oddly childlike.  “John…I want to come home.  Nothing’s right anymore.  I barely know who I am if I’m not your husband.”  
  
John pulled him into an embrace.  “I wish I could take you home right now.  But it isn’t that simple.”  
  
Sherlock drew away and nodded.  “I know.”  
  
“I love you, Sherlock, but…you hurt me very badly.  I need some time, and so do you.  You really should talk to someone and work out why you thought you had to sabotage our relationship.”  
  
His lip curled.  “I’m not interested in therapy, John.”  
  
“That is not negotiable.  If you want me back, that is my condition.  And you’ve got to think of Colin, who asked for none of this.  You need to get that sorted.  Do not be cruel to that man, like you were to me.  Call it restitution.”  
  
Sherlock sighed.  “How long, do you think?”  
  
“I don’t know.  We’ll know when it’s the right time.”  
  
“But can I…can I see you?”  
  
John smiled at his simple, hopeful tone.  He lifted one of Sherlock’s hands and kissed his knuckles.  “Yes, you can see me.  We’ll…date.  If you want to call it that.  But not until you’ve got it sorted with Colin.  I think we need to take it slowly, all right?”  
  
Sherlock nodded.  “All right.”  
  
John sighed.  “God, is this real?  I’ve had dreams like this so many times, I’m afraid I’m going to wake up.”  
  
“If you’re dreaming, then we’re dreaming together.”  Sherlock cupped John’s face in his hands and kissed him again, slow and lingering.  John lost himself in the feeling of those lips against his again, his three years’ misery starting to lift from him, leaving him a bit light-headed.  They stayed close, foreheads together, until a sudden, awful thought struck him.  
  
“Wait, Sherlock…how long would this have gone on?  If we hadn’t run into each other tonight….”  
  
Sherlock smiled.  “I slipped the page a hundred dollars to make sure we were both in this room.  I didn’t know how you’d react.  I hoped that we could at least talk.”  He shrugged.  “You’ve far exceeded my most optimistic hopes.”  
  
John wanted nothing more than to drag Sherlock into the closest bathroom, lock the door and shag him senseless, which was how he knew it was time to make himself scarce.  “Listen, I…I have to go.  I can’t be here with you right now.  I need to get my head on straight.  I feel like I’ve just come off a roller coaster.”  he chuckled.  “The press is going to go insane when this gets out.”  
  
“Quite,” Sherlock said, one elegant eyebrow shooting up.  Their divorce had been nothing less than a media firestorm, with conservative pundits using it as evidence that gay relationships were unstable while every gay man in a two hundred mile radius set his sights on one or the other of them.  John had gone into hibernation for a solid year, going to the set and home again and nowhere else.  
  
John headed for the door, feeling Sherlock’s pull on him strongly, urging him to stay even though he knew it was best that he leave.  He turned back, a messy stew of relief and joy and fury and resentment and frustration bubbling in his heart.  “I’ll see you soon,” he said.  
  
Sherlock smiled, hands in his pockets.  “Soon.”


End file.
